On Both Sides
by Jenna Kyle
Summary: a new mutant has been discovered. When he joins the wrong human hating team, he discovers the cynical views of the other side. in doing this he finds senseless death, family caused insanity and earns the name "Double Agent"
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1  
  
Humans have never been exactly nice to new and different things - especially when those things have the ability to harm them. Times had never been that silent. People kept close watches on their neighbors and friends, tried not to let any of their own secrets leak out, yet wanted to know everything about those whom they feared. If trust existed in places other than fables, I couldn't see it, and soon I would have trouble having it.  
  
A huge monster of a man stomped into the fair grounds. It bellowed with horror as its crustacean-like legs pierced the ground. At sight of the genetic monstrosity, men and women alike, screamed like little school girls as they ran in terror. The maroon speckled monster tore through the tents with incredible lightning sped jabs of his feet. A trail of destruction and holes in the ground followed every step his bow-legs took. He threw a sign that said, "Mutant Spray: keep those pesky mutants away." The now bent metal missile flew through the air with incredible force. It hit a running man on the back of his bald head, causing him to fall like he was dead. The mutant continued to stomp through the craft fair. Finally, it had caught up with its oppressors. He lifted a man into the air with one hand. His scaly muscles hardly tensed. The man was petrified, almost to the point of death. He violently quaked as the monster's hot, steamy breath fogged his glasses.  
"Please! Please!" cried the man almost silently. "Don't kill me!"  
The mutant laughed as spit flew from his mouth. His grip tightened on the man's arm, and with a loud Pop the man dangled from his own arm like a rag doll. The creature tossed the man aside, and with one continuous wail, the man landed on his back.  
The special effects of this movie were awesome. Everything looked and sounded so real, yet the plot seemed like someone had recycled an old fifty's monster movie script. Everyone in the Regal Theater was screaming, gasping, or closing their eyes. What for? I don't know. The whole story was nothing like what was happening in the real world. The only excuse for most of the viewers' fright was the spectacular computer-generated images and the great sound effects.  
The story was about how Timmy Rogers was born to an everyday, run-of- the-mill family. He had an older sister, Katherine, who adored him, parents who loved him, and a life of luxury as the high school quarter back. One day, though, he had a horrible time with almost all of his joints. (Especially in his feet and ribs) One day, after school, he waited after football was over and everyone had left the changing room. Then he took his cleats off to find that some thing red was piercing his socks. He tore the socks off and found that it was his toenail. His toenail was growing; growing into some kind of huge claw, and as it got longer the tip got redder and then more maroon. At first he asked himself how this could happen to him. He knew what he was becoming. At that instant, his padding shuffled. He wrestled his padding off to only be followed by wailing in distress. Falling on the floor, he rolled and moaned. His torso shifted. The left side began to swell and then the right started. Timmy's skin started to stretch. After a few minutes of turmoil, Timmy was fine, all except for his feet. That day the Hollywood mutant walked back home hunched over. The next day, Timmy had found himself in the same pain in the lunch line at school and the next day in the fitting room at the mall. Timmy knew what was happening. Three days after his first encounter; Timmy started praying for his first time. He wanted to check all bases that he wouldn't have another run-in with his Mr. Hyde on the day of his big game. So, Timmy played the first quarter. Everything was going fine. He had scored two touchdowns, and almost got a third. Of course, the movie's star couldn't be a bad player. I thought it would have been a funnier show if he was. The game continued and continued. The second quarter ended, but no points were added for Timmy's team, and then finally, it happened. In the middle of a play, Timmy started rolling on the ground. He screamed in distress as his pads became more and more uncomfortable. The wimp started crying as his dreams of pro-football disappeared on that field. He tried to shuffle out of his pads again, but it was too late. One side cracked as his ribs became something of a shell. The other side popped off as his ribs unified and his big toes' nails grew longer and more claw like. He wailed and wailed as more and more people came to watch the hometown monster emerge. He could see his family watch him in disgust as he showed them what he really was. The reptilian crustacean had arrived. Timmy no longer looked too human. He definitely had increased strength and defense, but he wasn't satisfied. He wanted to be just like everyone else. Everyone tried to show the past sports hero that they didn't care about his looks, but you could tell that his family and friends were embarrassed of him. Their fake kindness only brought his rage out more. By the end of the movie, Timmy was a psychopathic mutant without a reason other than he wanted to be like everyone else. So by the end of the movie, his hometown became a ghost town. No longer was it the fruitful Texan suburb. Now it was the desolate home of a suicidal mutant. Even though the movie, Mutants II: Hometown Monster, was "supposed" to be an instant classic, I couldn't help but let my mind wander to what the real mutants thought of this movie. After the Sunday matinee, I stood outside waiting for my brother to pick me up. "You want a ride?" asked Ryan, the guy who invited me to the 'instant classic.' "Nah, Ian'll be here soon," I answered in half confidence. "You sure?" "Yeah, I'm positive." Finally, his used Ford truck pulled into view. "What took you so long?" I asked, expecting some pathetic answer  
"I told you," he said, now pointing to a tarp that had been stretched to protect some box in the bed, "I had to get my amp."  
As I stepped into the truck, the same nagging headache that I'd been getting all month started. It screeched with searing pain even as I grabbed the back of my head and stumbled back onto the sidewalk.  
"You okay Dane?" asked Ian with what seemed to be true sympathy.  
"Yeah," I answered, closing my eyes from the pain while I climbed back in the truck.  
And With the slam of the truck door, another sudden spring down pour started in northern Virginia. I cautiously let one hand creep off the back of my head, and waited for the pain to cool down as I listened to Ian's music.  
Trying to put my mind on something else, I changed the radio station, and ended on some news.  
".Famous billionaire and conglomerate owner, Ned Buckman, has been found dead at his spring home in Switzerland. Robert Sedwick has more to say:"  
A deep and 'matter-a-fact' voice aired next, "Thanks Bill. Here in Geneva, Switzerland, off of Geneva Lake lies a lavishely decorated mansion owned by the late Edward Buckman. According to reports, a maid came into the dining room where Buckman was working and having breakfast and she found him with his face collapsed on his food.  
"I don't know what happened!" said a strongly accented woman. "I had just left to go get some more milk, and when I came back, Oh, there he was with his face lying on his eggs! It was horrible! He looked like all the energy had been sucked right from his body!"  
"There you go. That was his maid, Gertrude. We'll have more for you later," and that was it from that reporter.  
"On other news," said the first speaker, "Local girl, Monica McFarely, is still missing, but police think they have found a lead." At the name, Monica McFarely, Ian swirved the truck over, and listened with his whole mind focused on the radio's voices.  
"According to chief police officer, Charles Roder, a man has come forward with some possible evidence. From what he has given us, we know that there is a video recording of her with an extremely elderly woman around Ontario, Canada."  
Tears of what seemed like joy formed in Ian's eyes. "Ontario," he repeated in what sounded like dreamy happiness. I hadn't seen Ian this happy in a good while. Ever since this Monica McFarely had disappeared from her ballet recital, Ian had been grieving. It struck everyone as such a shock. One second Ian's girlfriend had been there tip-toeing off the stage, and the next she was gone. No one knew what happened to her, where she had gone, or if she was alive, but this broadcast, this gleam of hope; it was an answer to the McFarely family's and Ian's prayers.  
  
The truck rolled up the driveway of a peach house with three hanging baskets that were already filled to the brim with red poppies. The spring downpour continued and my head ache kept stinging. It was considerably lighter but any headache was lighter than this one.  
I walked up to the door with my left hand still grasping my pain. There had to be a reason for these headaches. Right? Just to insure that, my parents had scheduled an appointment to find the cause of these headaches. I was going to miss school the next day, and have some tests done to find the cause or causes.  
Ian carried his amp up the stairs, to his room. A musician at heart, he would spend his whole life picking guitars if he could.  
Three hours past and my family was back at the church for the second service that Sunday. Our Penacostle church was one of those crazy churches. It was a huge three room building with a pastor that would stand at the door all night before starting the service. Reason was, he made it his goal to shake hands and talk with everyone in his congregation.  
Once I passed the front two wooden doors, I came into the sanctuary. It was a huge plain room with a big rugged cross that hung on the wall. Pews were already filled with clucking women and men talking about the bucks they "almost" shot that week.  
The few high schoolers that did go to my church had two social classes; those that played in the church band and those whom didn't. The band playing teens would sit behind the preacher, waiting for praise and worship to start, while the non-band playing teens sat in the balcony alone. The parents didn't really care what we did, as long as Matthew McCartney didn't use his suspenders as bungee cords again.  
About forty-five minutes passed, Pastor Almande walked up to the pulpit, and the non-band playing high schoolers walked behind the stage and up the stairs to the balcony. To our surprise, someone was already up there. A strange looking guy, along the ages of twenty to twenty four, sat looking like he was waiting for someone. Never before had anyone been in the balcony before the teens, but this wasn't the most usual of days.  
The guy had slicked back hair with a young goatee. He grinned at me as I sat. I thought he must have been some weird guy that had just gotten out of school for the year. Trying to keep my thoughts on what the preacher was saying, I tried to erase the peculiar young man from my mind.  
"Job was a man that even God was proud of!" announced Pastor Almande in his deep, southern accent. "He was a man of integrity and faithfulness!"  
Elderly women had already started saying, "Amen!" and, "Yes he was!"  
"Everyone could stand to be a little bit more like Job!" started the pastor again. "Job had everything taken away from him! He had his wealth, his health, and his children taken from him, but guess what. He still kept his faith in God!"  
"Preach it brother!" said the blubbery truck driver in the front row.  
"He loved God enough, so that when everything was taken from him; he still worshipped Him! Yes, he got depressed, but he still thought of God. And when his wife said, 'Curse God and die!' he told her that he wouldn't give up his integrity and love for God for anything that Lucifer could throw at him. He loved God enough to think of Him even though he had leprosy. And what do you think ole' Satan was doin' now? He was going stir crazy, because he thought Job would surely throw his faith down the drain by now. Oh, but no, Job wasn't gonna give up that easily. God, himself, had called Job blameless and upright. And if God knew that about Job, you knew it was right?  
People were yelling "hmm," "Preach it"and"Oh yes, thank you Lord," like all good Penacostle churches did when they got a soul riveting sermon started. People were just itching to get singing and dancing.  
"So, if that fallen angel ever comes your way again, you just say, 'Satan leave me now, because I am in Jesus and He is in me!'" And that was how that good sermon ended.  
  
All of the people would have jumped to get up if their joints would have let them. My church had a righteous praise and worship experience that night. We were singing, "When sorrows like sea billows roll; What ever my lot, thou hast taught me to say It is well, it is well with my soul." when I turned to see what that strange man was doing. In the midst of the song, he was shuffling a stack of cards. It was kind of peculiar. He did just about every trick out there. He would throw them up from one hand, and they would land back on the other. Next he started juggling the cards while shuffling them at the same time. Every other card would go to the other hand but the odd ones would stay in his right hand. I changed my focus and decided to listen to what Gladys McCartney, one of the elderly that didn't trust teens, was saying. I thought she was saying that everyone should give more money, but I didn't know. I came into the talk to late.  
At that moment, the sprinklers went off in the building. All the women and children scrambled out of the building. After them, the teens clambered down the staircase. "There's no fire!" said my father as he walked out soaking. Once everyone was out they all looked at Matthew McCartney, thinking he had snuck out of the balcony and held a lighter up to a sprinkler again. "What? It wasn't me?" said Mathew.  
All the adults gave him real suspicious looks. "You come right here Matthew Louis McCartney!" said his grandmother Gladys. "You just wait until we get home. Your hind'll be as red as my roses. You won't be able to sit for weeks!" said his grandmother as she pulled him to their car. "I'm so sorry y'all."  
I looked around to make sure everyone was their. At first I thought they were, but I realized that shuffling man wasn't. I looked over everyone, but once again, he wasn't there. Where was he?  
"I'm sorry, but it seems the rest of service won't happen. Sorry folks. Don't worry though, count on having service Wednesday"  
The next morning, I awoke due to another headache. It felt like pressure was building up and up but nothing was letting out. Any second, it seemed like the back of my skull was going rip open and release the pressure out along with my brain. I gripped my head again even though I knew it wasn't going to do anything. An hour passed before the headache died down. They were getting longer and more common with everyday. Still, it didn't help that I had only gotten four hours of sleep that night. I had been praying that I would find the solution to these headaches, but it didn't seem like my prayers were doing anything. I finally got out of bed once the headache had started to pass but it lingered as I got ready for the surgery. Three more hours passed, and I was in the car with my parents, driving me to an IV-caused snooze on a surgery bed. "Hello, I'll be your nurse today Dane," said a plump, hardy faced women whose name tag read Mrs. Robinson. "Are you ready for the surgery?" I shook my head as I lay in the hospital gown on the surgery bed. "Good!" she said. "Have you eaten or drunk anything in the last twelve hours." This time I shook my head horizontally. "Now, I'm gonna have to give you this IV, so if you'd be so kind, would you clench your hand like this." Her hand formed the fist of a giant. I imitated her and she found a vein to insert the needle, and with a pinch- like sting, the needle pierced me. She taped it on, and turned a knob on the tube that led from the liquid pouch to the needle. Ice cold fluids rushed through my arms blood like a glacier in the Bahamas. It almost felt like crystals were forming in my blood. "Now it may feel a little cool because this is room temperature and you're a bit warmer than that." You're telling me I thought. It took a minute to get used to. It felt like the opposite of jumping into a cold pool. Instead of jumping in it, it felt like the freezing pool was jumping in me. Minutes passed as I faded in and out of consciousness. The last thing I remember is the doctor asking me to relax. The next thing I knew, my dad was poking me, joking that I was dead. "You alive in there?" he'd say. "Knock, Knock. Is anybody home?" I lifted my head as a pain shot through on the top of my neck. I felt around to feel a bandage right below my curly hair. It felt like a huge pinch, but it was nothing compared to the headaches. I tried to sit up and talk, but I was too tired due to whatever medicine they put in my IV. I felt like I had been on a hanging tire, spinning for the last few hours, and now I was dizzy and nauseous. The nurse had obviously taken my IV out already and patched my arm up with a bit of gauze and tape. Still wondering what the doctor did, I looked up at my parents. "What happened? Did they take something out?" I asked "No, we didn't take anything out, but we did take an Infared scan of you head, and there was this really red area. We went in to see if something was there, but all we found was that as soon as we got under you skin, there's a lot of heat and pressure. We're gonna send some stuff to be tested but don't expect any answers." "How soon can we expect the results from these tests," said my mother with the typical worried look of a mother when something is strange with her child. "'Bout a week and they will call us and we'll call you." The next week passed and it felt like I was being watched the whole time. Everything strange that week started on Wednesday. For the third day in a row, my head woke me with torturous pain. The pressure built up even more with every headache. Unfortunately, it was a reliable as the spring storms. There was one that was so bad that in the middle of my first period science class, I got another headache. It grew so rapidly that every single light or reflection of light acted as its own strobe light they glared so brightly until it seemed I was surrounded by trains. The pressure grew and I began to perspire. Sweat sopped from my palms as the air froze in my lungs. Every single smell and sound became more and more prominent from its former blandness. The girls' perfumes fumed from their necks. They wafted with elegant sweetness while at the same time bringing every ones foul body odor to my nose. Every single sound blared a constant babble. Every sense was consumed by overwhelming stress. The back of my head screeched with searing pain. Even though my skin was sweating like the rain was falling outside, my insides felt like a twisting roller coaster, and the next thing I knew, I was moaning in the nurse's office.  
"Oh, tour awake now!" said a duck of a woman. She started talking, but her voice faded in and out with every movement of her bill-like lips.  
"My baby, how are you?" said my mother with an extremely worried, motherly face. "Speak to me!" she said, clutching and holding me. I tried to but I couldn't breath. "Oh Hon', are you okay?" It was strange how I couldn't hear the quacking nurse yet I could understand every word my over- worried mother said.  
"Maybe he would talk, if he could breath!" quacked the nurse as she pulled my mother off of me. My mother's look told the nurse how much of a nascence my mother though she was. The nurse just pouted and waddled back to her desk.  
"Are you okay?" asked my mom, now a little more calmed.  
I nodded to indicate yes but my ears were still adjusting.  
"Okay, let's go," she said as she walked up to the nurse, and checked that it was okay.  
"I'll help you get him to the car," said the nurse in agreement to my mother, but to their shock, I was already on my feet.  
"Do you think you can walk to the car?" asked mother.  
"Of course. I'm standing. Aren't I?" I said, starting towards the door at an unsure gait. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
Sabertooth: that was his real name. It made him feel so much more powerful than the lame-o name, Victor Creed. That was his father's name, and his father was only human: a homo sapiens. Sabertooth, as he called himself, was so much more. He was the best thing that breathed so far, a homo superior: a mutant. If anything was genuinely perfect, it was the mutant race. Well, it was as perfect as possible, but it still had people that didn't help the mutant purpose.  
"The mutant race is the future," once said an untainted mind. "We are the future of man, and it is time to weed out the population that would prevent our rightful tomorrows." The voice was brave and powerful yet comforting and reassuring to Sabertooth. That voice reassured him that he was not a freak as his father had numerously shouted.  
"'Ey, ugly, shut up!" his father had shouted at the four-year old Sabertooth.  
"But, Sir, I-I-I'm hungry," he begged in reply.  
"Oh, yer hungry, are ye? Well, come over 'ere and I'll give you some food." The young long, blonde haired boy walked over to his father. He stood in front of his father with pitiful, deep, black pools of eyes, just barely looking at his father's face. His father smiled a mouth full of chipped and missing teeth.  
"Well, why didn't you tell me that, boy?"  
There was no reply.  
"Eh, well, are ye 'ungry?" he asked waving his beer bottle to look more caring.  
He still didn't answer.  
"Answer me when I'm talkin' to ye, mongrel!" shouted his father  
"Yes," sheepishly answered Sabertooth.  
"YES! YES! YOU KNOW YOUR S'POSED TER USE 'SIR' EVERY TIME YER TALKIN' TER ME!  
"Yes, Sir!"  
"Better! Now, put out your 'ands, ye little monster." The man smiled again  
The skinny boy did as commanded, holding up his fuzzy arms that were connected to two relatively huge hands with five big black claws on each fingertip.  
"'Eres your food!" shouted his father slamming his beer bottle into the boy's calloused palms. "I hope it tastes good!" Glass shards stood in Sabertooth's hands. But just as fast as his father had slammed his empty beer bottle into the boy's hands, the skin healed itself, popping the shards out of the skin like springs. "Yer a freak. Look at this mess you made!"  
The man grabbed his boy by the wrist with strength enough to pull it off, and led him down to the cellar. Sabertooth had nightmares about that cellar on regular occasions. The dark cellar was one of those places that looked scary enough, but young Sabertooth knew the place all too well. Once it's primary use had been to hold his esteemed family's many foreign wines, but it became the imprisonment of the young mutant. Unfortunately, he had an impeccable mind which held his earliest memory from the age of three months. He remembered how he had been hungry one night, and his father was tired of his crying. The man carried the clawed baby to the cellar, and left him there for the night. "Look at ye, yer a monster. Do ye know what I go through fer ye? I work all day te support ye and your mother. What thanks do I get? 'I'm 'ungry.' 'I'm thirsty.' Ye belong in a freak show!" said Mr. Creed as he pulled his mutant child to the cellar. "Tha's a good idea," said the man more to himself. "I'll start lookin' t'morrow. Fer goodness sake, it's not like ye do anything. Yer mother won't even look at ye. All ye do is make 'er cry! How can ye do that ter yer own mother?" The man pushed his boy onto the cellar's floor and grabbed a wall mounted chain. He took the iron collar and attached it to his boy. Young Sabertooth watched his dad walk up to the stairs as he was chained to the wall crying. The cold icy winds of that Canadian road kept Sabertooth awake. He had been riding his stolen Harley for five days non-stop. The brisk wind whipped at his long blonde hair. His coat slapped at the bike, and he was as happy as possible. The only thing that bothered him was that man, that man whom he had fought a year ago. It didn't matter that the man had cheated by having his friend shoot Sabertooth off the Statue of Liberty's head. The whole memory caused him a great, passionate feeling of discontentment. All his most current problems were due to that man that had cheated in knocking him off the statue's head. He was the reason Sabertooth couldn't sleep. It had awoken some deep memories that he had somehow forgotten. What was it about him? Maybe it was those adamantium blades that pierced out from his knuckle, or could it have been that hair which stood up like two great huge cow licks that gave him these nightmares. Whatever it was, there was something definitely familiar about that short, bladed man. Why did he give me all these nightmares? thought Sabertooth.  
  
There had been no one on this road except for a few caravans of trucks and the random native. Sabertooth was glad for this. He didn't want anyone to see him so sad. He had never been beaten in a fight except by his father, but he didn't want to think about him. He didn't want to cry. Most of all, He didn't want to be seen so unsatisfied. Just then, some kind of fancy motorcycle whizzed by him. He took a whiff of the scent; nothing unusual, but there was something familiar. It was him. It was that shorty with the blades. Sabertooth would have his revenge. With a loud, E-E-E-eer, Sabertooth turned around and sped towards his quarry. He could see it now. His adversary was out. He was down and out forever. Sabertooth fixated this image of the dead mutant in his mind. How could that mutant not see it? How could he not realize that we need to 'weed out' the humans? Mutants need to come together and overthrow their primitive oppressors. It was the last time! This mutant needed to see the truth or die! thought Sabertooth. Sabertooth sped towards his little friend and got ready for the pounce. Soon enough, the petite mutant saw the great blonde man, and swerved into the forest. Needles and pine cones flew. The sooped-up x-man's motorcycle raced through the dense forest. His chaser's followed amazingly well. Well, well, thought Sabertooth, You can't go forever. His lights glared through the forest always on the tail of the other. The chase didn't really start, though, until the prey jumped over a dry waterfall. He continued his path in and out of the dry creek bed, through a small gorge, and coming to a clearing. Just as Sabertooth got a foot away from the other bike, his stolen motorcycle started clunking. Clunk Kink Kink Clunk Clunk, went the bike. It ended with a, Ree-er-er-er-er-row Ree-er-er-er-er- row-row. The light flashed out with Sabertooth stranded there in the middle of the woods. All he could hear was the gentle swaying of trees and the long-gone rumble of his target's motor. He roared in agony. "Come on!" he growled. "Work would'ya?" Punching dents into it and kicking even more, the vehicle finally started a burble. I can still get him, thought Sabertooth. He hopped back on his bike, stomped on the gas, and roared to his adversary. The short mutant stood at a gas station, a ways north from Sabertooth, and calmly filled his tank. About two minutes passed, and Sabertooth was only a mile down-wind from his pint-size quarry. He reared his bike and roared into the station. (Both him and his bike were doing the roaring) Too late to avoid confrontation, the man whirled around to find his chaser jumping off his bike in a full scale pounce. Unfortunately for Sabertooth, the man ran out of his aim. Sabertooth avoided pouncing the gas pump by turning his pounce into a summersault to only find his prey in defensive position. (Blades out) Like an old western shoot-out, the two of them were spaced and staring at one another's pupils, and once more like a shoot-out, the two started at the same time. Claws stretched, they jolted towards each other. But to the short man's surprise, the blonde chaser had leaped towards a light instead of at him. The light came down with a loud crash on the top of the bladed man's head, but to Sabertooth's disappointment, the man was undisturbed. The light did nothing except really annoyed the man. They clawed at one another; each time, their muscles and skin grew back only to be followed by another blow. Jabs, Punches, and kicks flew at one another. The smaller pierced his knuckle blades into the concrete, pushed his body straight forward, trying to kick with all his might into Sabertooth's sternum, but at this, Sabertooth swiveled to be at the side of his prey's kick, pulled the man out of the ground, and threw him-blades in front-at the gas pump. He pierced through like an arrow. As the man flew out, the gasoline hose came after him like a disturbed rattlesnake. It tossed its severed self around, spraying gasoline everywhere-including onto its intruder. Not a bit of him was left dry. His war cry rang loud and clear as he jolted towards Sabertooth. "Die," he cried, thrusting all six blades into Sabertooth's chest, and with impeccable force, Sabertooth was pierced. Six blades went from the munchkin's knuckles, into Sabertooth's ribcage, and peeked out through the pierced one's coat. The tall man roared as he pulled his adversary from his own ribcage. The shorter one tried to get out of the grasp, but Sabertooth held his grip tight as his claws pierced through the man's forearms. Meanwhile, a strange stretching sound sounded Sabertooth's body coming back to normal. He smiled his cat-like teeth and pushed his opponent's blades onto the remaining gas tank. It was the man's adamantium blades against the steel gas tank. Sabertooth knew the man didn't realize what he was thinking. With great force, he scratched the man's blades against the tank. Sparks flew everywhere-including onto the gasoline drenched man! The man who was now catching on fire didn't have time to retract his blades from scratching the tank. The act was done but the fight was far from over. Sabertooth's little friend's skin was now ablaze. His skin scorched in the flames yet recuperated at a faster rate, but the act wasn't the smartest thing on Sabertooth's part either. He should have realized that the flames would catch his baggy clothes. With this, the two remained singeing, but ever healing. "You owe me!" growled Sabertooth for the first time since they had reacquainted. "You cost me my answers!" A look of remembrance struck his opponent's face. "What answers!" asked he as the only unlit part of his body-his blades-barely missed Sabertooth's left ear. "The ones about us! I've been remembering our work ever since we first met!" Sabertooth just streaked his flaming hand of claws across his opponent's face. "What do you mean 'our work'?" said he as he took his blades in a slash from left to right at a tree next to Sabertooth. The old pine was sliced with the single slash, and quickly felled onto him. With a thud, the man was locked underneath the heavy tree. His spine had been split in two places-one on his lower neck and the other was a foot below. His roar was well heard as all the morning birds flew away from that area of the forest. He got to his feet, took the tree and held it like a bat, and with a grand swing, the shorter of the two was under the tree. And with a great, booming chuckle, his vertebras were once more aligned. The man scrambled out of his lock much faster than Sabertooth. "You don't remember? Maybe you will if I put you to sleep for good!" Sabertooth roared, a new rage was building as he flashed his hands across the side of his old co-worker's face to reveal a sliced off ear. "Hold on! I've been looking for answers. Why aren't we just looking together?" he grunted while blocking a close swipe to his nose. "Because you'll probably betray me!" answered Sabertooth with a faint memory of his past. "What?" remarked the clueless one. "You really don't remember? Magneto said I knew more than you, but he didn't say how much," said Sabertooth panting as he finally knocked his opponent to the ground. His hand grasped at the man's neck, claws digging into the flesh. His half burned away boot stomped on the man's chest and pressed his open toes' claws into the man's chest. He smiled a tasteful smile of revenge. This was what it felt like! He loved it so dearly. It was like getting back at everyone who had ever wronged him-his father, his mother, that blue mutant on Magneto's team, the human race, and most importantly, this guy. "Really? Well, I'll tell you what I know and you can say what you remember," grunted he with a faint grin. Sabertooth gave a skeptical look; his black eyes studied the man carefully. A moment passed as he studied the man's face. Was this what I needed? Do I need this guy to help me find the answers I've been looking for? How do I know he knows anything? He might be lying. He may know nothing. He could just be looking for a way out from his unpreventable fate. But on the other hand, he could know something. He might actually share it with me, and after he does, I can kill him, thought Sabertooth "Okay, meet me in an hour at the roadhouse. It's about fifteen miles east of here," answered Sabertooth putting his guard down. The shorter man kept his blades up ready to fight, but cautiously walked away with an unbelieving eye. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
Again, I awoke due to another searing headache. It screamed for attention until I finally got up and took a shower. After that I went downstairs, I ate my cereal, took some pills that were supposed to lighten my headaches, and grabbed my backpack. "I thought you weren't going to school," said Ian as he grabbed his backpack. "No, I'm goin'," I replied as if he had just heard wrong. "Didn't mom and dad say they thought you should stay home today?" "Yeah, but," I thought for a second. "I don't want to stay home, and all I would do is sleep all day and do nothing, and I've been doin' that all week." "So, you need to stay home," Ian said he as if he was speaking in Laymen's terms. "No, I won't need to sleep. I've slept enough this month to last a year. Plus," I added, not letting him get a word in, "if I need to sleep, I can just go to the nurse's office. She can call mom, and then I'll come home." "Fine," said Ian, knowing he wasn't going to win this one, "get in the truck, but if you even start getting a headache, I want you to go and ask to go home."  
  
Ian and I rode to school, not even bothering to tell my mom that I wasn't home. We arrived at the school, only to find an ambulance with its lights flashing as paramedics carried a covered stretcher from the main entrance. "What happened?" I asked my friend, Ryan, as the stretcher neared the ambulance. "Well, I've heard a bunch of stories, but they all say that Ms. Reeds was found dead in a janitor's closet," answered Ryan. "The funny thing is, I saw her in her room about a minute before whoever it was found her in the closet." Ms. Reeds was my first period English teacher-not to mention, my favorite teacher. This news was one of those things that made you rethink the whole year. For a second, I just couldn't believe it, but almost as quickly as that unbelief flew by, a sudden feeling of deep sorrow came. She had always been a bit strange, but I could think of no reason anyone would want her dead. Things like these weren't that uncommon now a day. It all had started about the time that the new mutant race was starting to become public knowledge. My mom still had a clipping of that headline story at home, in her desk. She always told my father who had tried to get her to throw it out that one day it would be worth a lot. "One of these days Kurt, that article is gonna change our life. We'll be as rich as possible. Just think about it, we'll retire early and get that sailboat you always wanted," my mom had told my father. "One of these days." She was right. That one article made such an impact on the world already. You can't even turn the TV on without hearing about a new mutant found in some suburb. People went hysterical, wondering who might be a mutant, what the president knew before the report was public knowledge. "The world is an ever changing place," he had announced on all the news stations the night of the article's release. "We will never know everything without something new coming into the spotlight." "A new kind of human is upon us," read the article, A New Kind of Human. "Mothers and Fathers, be afraid for your children. Husbands and Wives, fear for your spouses. Children, pray for you parents. A new kind of human is upon us," it repeated in a kind of poetic fashion.  
"No longer classified evidence tells us that the human gene pool is spawning a kind of mutant. These so called 'mutants' are the work of a new gene dubbed the 'X-gene.' The 'X-gene' can turn a human into a ruthless  
killing machine. It can give unique gifts that invade privacy, have strange advantages over the typical person, and can be used to harm, even  
kill, a person!" The article continued describing; sounding like it was from first hand experience, that people shouldn't trust anyone. It went on and on about how these mutants can do so many wrong things. People didn't know what to think about it at first, or at least I didn't. Ever since A New Kind of Human people were going crazy wondering who was human and who wasn't. The head of the Loudoun County School Board had described it as, "taking out the rotten fruit," when they had voted to ban any found mutant from our school system. It had become a nation-wide witch hunt. Aside from the daily mutants found, was the killing of any supposed mutant. Unfortunately, a good many of the killed 'mutants' were found to be regular people who had no X-gene. It isn't like I had no view point on these tortures of mutants, but when issues like these come about, I've learned that you should keep to yourself and find others view points so that you know how to approach the matter with them. "Does this mean we don't have school today," I asked Ryan as we neared our lockers. "I heard that some of the teachers wanted to not have school today, and the police chief advised the superintendent to cancel school, but he wouldn't have it. I heard he got all mad about the idea and went around saying that Ms. Reeds had always been a bit quirky and how he thought she had more than one skeleton in her closet; if you know what I mean." All I could say was, "Hmm," and wait for my friend to start rambling on as I could always count on him to do so well. "I don't think he's wrong either. That woman was always a bit secretive. She always seemed to be ready for anything, like she was just waiting for someone to jump in through the window-like she was waiting for a mutant to just come in! Wait a sec! Wasn't she your first period teacher today?" "Yeah?" I answered, waiting for him to give me some incite into his too fast mind. A moment went by and he finally opened his mouth. "Well, you can find out what happened. Maybe you can find out what happened to her." This is why Ryan was always embarrassing me. He may have been a great friend but other than his way of always being uncomfortable in the quiet, he had this way of being naïve-even to his own thoughts. "I'll see," I answered trying to muse him. Our conversation continued and drifted until the bell rang. I went to the library, which they had announced was the replacement room for the late Ms. Reeds' classes. Expecting to see the principal or some other familiar face, I found what appeared to be a substitute teacher. How they had found a substitute at such sudden notice was beyond me. Later I found out how. As the remainder of my class wandered in, the teacher started, "My name is Ms. Joubert." She spelled the name on a dry erase board that had been wheeled into the room, then continued, "Now, I'm sorry about your Ms. Reeds, but I'm here for the next four weeks of school and I have to get to know what you know and what you don't!" She paced in front of the board as her voice grew louder and louder to the librarian's dismay. "Now for role." She took a clip board from the table in front of her, and started role more intensely than any other teacher I had heard. "Rodney Aldamos.Alexis Alphie. Timothy Biggins,"-She pronounced every word perfectly and with what seemed like mounting anticipation and the end of her rope-"Andrea Bakers.Harry Bedwin.Sarah Bordeaux.Roger Budby." She breathed a sigh of relief and under her breath, said what sounded like, "Finally, the C's. Andrew Calloway.Cassidy Carlson.Mariah Chadwick.Rachel Chee.Kaitlyn Cobble.Edward Cornwall.Dane Cozens." She smiled a so-that's- him smile and continued with role. What was it? What did I do? I could see into her beady eyes, those illusive yet inescapable eyes that knew something. They were that easy to read. She knew something-something that I didn't, and that's what agitated me. I was anxious to know whatever it was that she knew but didn't let it show. I knew it wouldn't do any good to entertain the thought, but I had to be ahead of everyone else; whether it be in knowledge or skill. In analyzing her, I might be able to find more about her than she knew about me, thus finding a link. After all, I did have the remaining four weeks of school to find out as much about her as I could. She was the essence of every stubborn teacher. With a face like a mule and the smile of one too, she had a face only teachers have. Blunt and flat footed she scowered the area, readying her class. She had a plain grey suit, thick glasses, and the scowl of a bull dog with eyes that seemed to pierce an iridescent, unrevealed color. "From what I can tell from the late Ms. Reeds' notes, you were reading 'The Tell-Tale Heart' in groups. Is that right.eh," she said, looking at her clipboard. ".Dane." "I don't know Ma'am. I wasn't here yesterday." "Oh, well Andrew, did you read it in groups yesterday." "Yep," he answered lifting his head from its pillow made of his two folded arms. "Thank you, but if you would be so kind, would you wipe off your string of drool and wake up!" commanded she, stretching her long neck. Slightly red, Andrew erected his back and wiped off his mouth. "Thank you," she said. "Would you all now get in your groups?" After everyone else got into their pairs, I found that I was the only one absent the day before. "Ma'am, what should I do?"  
She looked up from her lap-top and gave me one of those not-now looks, but it seemed that she was almost expecting it all the same.  
Closing the lap-top, she smiled and went on, "Why don't you just read it on your own. Then you'll only be responsible for half a project."  
Somewhat amazed and gracious, I looked at her. Now that I realized it, any other teacher would just assign a group of three, but this.this was no ordinary teacher. That was apparent. She was proving to be careless and more involved with her laptop than a teacher that was strict and stubborn.  
I went back to my table and began to read alone.  
"True!-nervous-very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses-not destroyed-not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in Hell. How, then, am I mad: Hearken! And observe how healthily-how calmly I can tell you the whole story," read the first paragraph and the character became steadily more naïve to his own thoughts and even more analytical. I had read the story before, and I considered it the best short story out there. No author can surpass Edgar Allan Poe's brilliance.  
I finished the story again, picked up the project's papers, and began on them while Ms. Joubert seemed to be talking to someone through her laptop. The bell rang just as I finished the last question on the first page of the project, and I gathered my things and went to my next class, French. French continued normally, which wasn't a good thing as French teachers are always a bit snobbish and rude, but I survived through her lectures. The third class of that day was art. This, above all, was my favorite subject since I was one of the best in the school and possibly the county. The teacher, Mr. Evans, was far from a good teacher, but the fact that my skills were so advanced from six years of private lessons made his lack of teaching skills bearable. At that time, I was trying to catch up on a still life the class had painted. It wasn't a boring one like we usually got. It was almost classy with a half opened melon, an almost completely melted candle, and a silver plate behind the two, with a raspberry red drape for the backdrop. Luckily enough, the project was a watercolor, my favorite medium other than pencil. I finished the drawing, filled my palette, and began the painting in about an hour. First, I started with the candle and plate, being that they had the lightest colors. Then the greens were added on the melon. I was just about to start cleaning up after the first layer, being that the class only had five or ten minutes left when the blaring intercom spoke into the room. "Mr. Evans?" "Yes?" he answered. "We need Dane Cozens for early dismissal." "Okay, he'll be down there soon." I continued packing, put the painting in a portfolio that I was going to take home to catch up on, zipped up my back pack, and went to the main office. The second I walked in, my mom frantically grabbed my wrist and headed for the door. "C'mon, we've gotta go!" she said acting like I was sinning by not running. "Wait!" I said trying to stop her nails from piercing me, "Where are we goin'? What happened? Shouldn't I sign out? She just pulled harder and quickened her pace. "The doctor called my school," she said referring to where she taught, "and he sounded really frantic like it was dire situation. He told me to get you and bring you to the hospital as fast as possible! Why weren't you at home?" By then we were at the car. My mind was already swimming through thoughts of elation that they must have discovered was wrong with me and dread that it sounded so terrible. My head was doing laps between one wall of happiness and the other of dreariness. I didn't need her agitated remarks of why I would disobey her. The car ride didn't help either. It was complete silence with the exception of her agitated rants. I really didn't need this. It was enough that I was building this appointment up to a possible cure, but I wasn't the type of person who likes the spotlight on him. I just wanted her to stop complaining about me, so that I might be able to hear myself think. After all, I knew that this headache thing was trouble for the family and that I wasn't exactly helping the family save money for a trip to the Caribbean by having them spend so much money on appointments to the doctor, but she didn't seem to think I knew. Eventually, the silence turned into a one-person argument. With lungs that were so perfect for yelling at pupils, she started going into a full-scale holler. "Dane, what's wrong with you? Don't you even think of you poor mother? I went to the house thinking you'd be there, but no! I thought you'd be home, but oh No! Yeah, you were at the school! Usually you don't mind sitting on your can all day, but you're such a spiteful imp! Deliberate disobedience! That's what you are!" At this, a head-ache struck like lightning. I winced at it, but tried to wade it out. "Oh another head-ache is it! Suits you well! You deserve what you get! Spiteful imp! Hmmp!" There was something in those nasty shouts. I knew she didn't mean any of it, but the noise was unbearable with the pressure. Soon, the headache started to get steadily worse like a worsening storm. The first step, sensitivity to bright lights, came while noise seemed to melt into a numbing hum. As we stepped out of the car, I noticed that there were at least ten police cars parked at random points in the parking lot. The hospital seemed a lot cleaner in the day light. Its stucco white walls and brick areas seemed a lot crisper as apposed to the morning of my operation. All the same, I felt a sense of foreboding that other than my headache, something was wrong. Something was different and strange. My mom and I neared the front door. She was still mumbling under her breath about my disobedience as I tried to pin point what was different about the hospital. The doors opened and we walked in to find more policemen inside the building. As I stepped in, the cops livened and they too became more aware. "Is he there yet?" asked a walky-talky. The policeman wearing the device- quickly, almost dropping it-pulled the device from his vest and hurriedly scrolled down what I guessed was the volume, and then mumbled in it. Something was definitely up but what was it? "Is he there yet?" the question plagued my mind as my mom guided me. Who? Was there a burglar in the hospital? Maybe a mad man? Things like these never happened in Loudoun County. It wasn't that it was small county-in fact it was a pretty huge one. It was just.nothing ever happened there. D.C. wasn't too far, and things were always happening there-whether it be a law being passed or a murderer on the loose-but Loudoun, Virginia, it was a rich and populated area that knew how to keep things mundane. As we walked through the grey halls, we found scattered cops standing everywhere. It felt and even looked like we were being followed, but it was hard to tell since the fluorescent lights blinded me in my head-ache. "Oh, good you're here!" announced the doctor that had spoken to me after my surgery. "How are you?" "I've got a headache again," I answered half mumbling-half complaining. "Good," he answered in a surprising tone. "Now, Mrs. Cozens," he said to my mom, "this may come as a shock to you, but there's something you should know." I hated this! It seemed like everything was happening around me, but I knew nothing about whatever it was. I just wanted to ask someone what was happening. I was tired of all these strange remarks, curious glances, unexpected tones, and smiles that said I know something you don't know. Where were the answers? What were the answers? "Ma'amme, I think you should come in here with me," said the doctor indicating a door. They walked in and I was left standing there trying to read there lips through the window. What was he saying to her that he couldn't say in front of me? Suddenly, my mom's eyes seemed to bulge in disbelief. The expression was clear on her face as a tears formed in her eyes. All I wanted to know was what he was saying. I wanted answers- answers he had. I knew he had them. Why wouldn't tell me? It had to be the answer to the question I wanted so badly. My luck always worked that way. I heard clinks and chings and other sounds one doesn't usually hear in such a quiet hospital. Four walls surrounded me with two big brown doors that separated the room I was in from the hallway. I couldn't tell what was going on out there, but I could see the shadows shifting under the doors. Finally, the door creaked open and I saw my mom whose face read sorrow, and pity. What could make a woman as tough as my mom cry? The only other time I had seen her cry was at funerals. Funerals! No one was dead were they? No, we wouldn't be called by a doctor to come to the hospital immediately due to a death, plus none of our family lived near enough to go to this hospital. Most of them lived in Arkansas or California except for one aunt who lived in Alexandria, VA. What was disturbing her? Whatever it was, I was going patiently crazy, trying to figure out what it was. "Dane," said the doctor with a voice of intolerance and disgust. "You.you're." All of a sudden my mom just started weeping on the spot and she put her hand on my shoulder and pulled my ear to her mouth. "Run," she whispered. "Fast!" "Dane, you're a mutant." The sentence was short and simple, but filled with so much meaning. I totally understood it and could connect the dots. It was a straight line that connected the head-aches, the policemen outside of those doors, and the strangeness of my life since these head-aches had started. Suddenly my head-ache worsened. It grew cold, almost freezing. The smell of the hospital stung my nose, and my sight became crisper and almost illuminated. I didn't need this now. Even more, I didn't want this now! It was the cherry on the top of the poisonous ice cream. I began to sweat, partially from trauma, and the other half from instinct. "Now Dane," started the doctor, "They're some men on the other side of those doors that are going to take you away. If you choose to fight, under Virginian law, you are enabling them to use their guns." The doors swung open, and for a second time stood still. Right then, a strange and innate feeling covered me. It felt like every part of my skin was opening, as at least a hundred invisible eyes flew out of my skin. They dispersed, flew around the room as some entered the hallway. At least fifty-probably more- cops were standing, guns in hand, ready to take me to what I guess would have been my death. I had heard of the reports on what happened to mutants-the crucifixions, the hangings, and burnings. What had happened to some was definitely not going to happen to me. I had wanted to know what was happening. Now I knew. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
A group of men sat under a dim light playing poker when the door swung open next to the winning man. The five guys looked up in awe and disgust as a man who smelled like gasoline and fire walked in. He was a giant of a man with two beetle black eyes and a long flowing mane of blonde hair. He made a kind of grunting growl in disgust and continued on to the bar.  
"Couldn't you have changed?" said the short guy already at the bar.  
Sabertooth ignored the comment as he sat. He tried to ignore everything here. It was disgusting-from the greasy and dusty bar to the lights which blinked in a dim drunkenness. He hated places like this. It was a place like this where he knew his father and mother had gone before coming home drunk every night. In fact, it was that which made him hate this place right from the start.  
"So.what do you know so far?" asked the man trying to make conversation. "Here let me buy you a beer."  
"No!" Sabertooth snapped.  
"Sorry?" he replied with indignation.  
"I don't drink."  
"What? Why?"  
"It ruins the senses," he said but what he really meant was, "It ruins the mind."  
"Hmm! Well, what did you mean about us working together?"  
"That's just sad! You don't even have a clue do you?"  
"About us working together?"  
"Yeah, well from what I know, we used to work together and well." he thought for a moment. "Well, we didn't do.eh.good things."  
"What do you mean 'good things'?"  
"We killed people," he said as the nightmares flooded back in his head. They were terrible. It was disgusting. How could he have done that? Why would he have done that?  
"Ha, are you telling me that you were willing to choke a woman to death, but you don't like killing people! Your one messed up guy!"  
A growl formed in Sabertooth's throat, but he kept it quiet. "You don't understand, these people didn't deserve it. Not like your group! Filthy human lovers!"  
"What do you mean?"  
"I thought you could at least understand that. Your group-what do you call yourselves? The X-men?"  
"No I mean, what did you mean by them not deserving it? Who?"  
"Oh well," he searched for the words to say it. "Ya see the people we killed-well, some of them deserved it, but most.most didn't! Most of them-"  
He was cut off as at least fifty men stormed into the place with guns in hand. They were suited in black commando gear with gas masks on their faces. A kind of scrambled language came from their masks as they shouted orders at one another.  
What looked like the leader took his mask off, pointed his gun at the two at the bar, and shouted, "Hands in the air!" The two mutants followed orders as they turned around to face the men. The leader nodded to two of his men and they walked towards the mutants; guns ready to fire. Sabertooth being nearer the men growled a bit and almost seemed to laugh. Just as the two reached him with some fancy little handcuffs, he let out a roar as loud as thunder and started the action.  
With swipe of his right hand, he left deep cuts in the first of the two as the second fired his gun, and Sabertooth took the bullet through the center of his hand. He smiled as the bloody gap closed-up. At this, the other mutant's blades ripped out of his knuckles. He sliced through another while Sabertooth knocked two others down.  
Bullets flew everywhere. The majority hit the mutants, putting holes in their hands, chests, legs, and arms, but none went for the head.  
"So, what were you gonna say?" yelled the second mutant as he shish- ka-bobbed two more guys.  
"Oh yeah, well, most of the people we killed. Most of 'em," Sabertooth broke off for a moment to knock a few more guys down. "They were little kids, and some were even old people-like in nursing homes!"  
"Really?" he asked as he sliced another guys arm. "I see what'cha mean by not doing 'good things'."  
About this time, fifty more men stormed into the room. These guys were different. They wore different uniforms than the others. It was bulkier and a little shinier. It didn't bother Sabertooth though. He could take these guys on whether they wore tutus or football padding. Whatever it was, it would be easy. He continued knocking people down to the ground with just one swipe. He had already severed one man's neck with his claws. Meanwhile, the shorter mutant just smiled and jumped over the bar to find a man crouched on the ground. There was something different about this guy. He was scared. No, he was petrified. Sabertooth's accomplice lifted the man's mask to find it wasn't any man. It was a boy no older than sixteen.  
"Come on, stop hiding and start fighting you sissy!" he yelled at the boy.  
The boy just stood still. He really was petrified. He wouldn't move. He just sat there all crouched underneath the bar with his mouth wide open and his eyes in a kind of dreamy state.  
"Fine," he said to the boy in a calmer tone, "but it's not my fault if you get killed."  
The bladed man got back up grabbed one of the beer hoses and turned it on. Beer flew everywhere: on the wooden floor, on the men, on Sabertooth, and on the ceiling.  
"Start making sparks!" he yelled at Sabertooth pointing at the lights.  
"He must really have liked that fire," thought Sabertooth with a grin.  
Sabertooth jumped up and popped the dim light bulbs in every light and sparks flew everywhere. The wooden floor lit-up with flames, Sabertooth's already nasty clothes were on fire again, and the ceiling lit- up too. The fire needed more though, so it spread. The roadhouse had been as dark as a cave, but glowed in a furious way. Every human still alive from the first fifty seemed to be on fire. They ran in horror as the fire ate at them and the corpses, but the fire didn't even seem to bother the second group. Sabertooth quickly deduced that the difference in their suits was that they were fire-proof. That's why they were shinier and bulkier.  
Thick black clouds of soot and smoke wafted in the roadhouse as Sabertooth and his true adversary fought. All of the first fifty were either dead or running. The second half was halved already and loosing more and more men. Right about the time that Sabertooth basically scratched a good forty-seven men to death a new group came in. They too wore the fire-proof suits and masks that yelled a broken language. Although, like the second group was a more advanced group compared to the first, they had what looked like fire extinguishers strapped on to their backs with glossy, black hoses connected to the tanks.  
"Oh well-it was nice while it lasted," thought Sabertooth referring to the fire that was eating his rag-clothes.  
But the new men weren't trying to stop the fire. Instead they seemed to be encircling the other mutant. He yelled at them, slicing one of the men, but the men just closed in tighter. "This is cruelty," thought Sabertooth, "No one should be treated like this. They're treating him like an animal!-What am I saying? He deserves whatever he gets!" He thought longer, and then it struck him. "Wait! Stop! I need the information he knows!" He had to save him. Whatever they were planning on doing, they couldn't do it. He needed this man's information! He couldn't care less if the guy died. He just wanted to know what he knew.  
Right then, as Sabertooth was making his way to retrieve the man for the information, a new smoke appeared. It wasn't like the smoke from the fire or foam from fire-extinguishers. It was blue and had this stinging odor. It ate at Sabertooth's nose sensors and stung worse than anything before. The smoke washed over the man and his hands relaxed from their fists. His blades returned to the man's body and he fell to the ground. "No!!!!!" shouted Sabertooth. He couldn't believe it. That man could put up a good fight against him, but he couldn't save himself from some blue smoke that was made by a bunch of humans! It was pathetic. Sabertooth wouldn't give in as easily. He couldn't! He had to retrieve the body, fight them off, and get the information-then he would kill the man if he wasn't dead already.  
Starting with a couple of slashing swipes, he knocked out two guys. Then he continued to the three men that were starting to make a circle around him. He knocked out one in the old fashion slash. The others, he grabbed their necks and pressed as hard as he could with his thumb's claw. The two fell to the ground struggling for breath. More men were encircling him and he just kicked some as bullets went in his foot and out. Others, he slashed their faces so hard that they couldn't even see. Struggling for time, he pursued the body faster, leaping like a lion to take down a herd of gazelles.  
Finally, only one man was standing between him and his body of information. Sabertooth smiled knowing that this was an easy man to get by. The suited man's quaking could even be seen through the thick, fire- proof suits. Just by Sabertooth's breath, the man shook in anxiety.  
"N-No!" said the man. "P-P-Please! I-I-I di-di-didn't d-d-d-do-"  
Just the stuttering of the man annoyed Sabertooth. It wasn't in any way perfect. Even humans had mastered speech except for this man. He was imperfect and therefore deserved death.  
Just then a change in the man occurred. He was no longer stuttering. He wasn't even shaking. Not even the roar that Sabertooth let loose corrected the man's attitude. The man was confident. He was outright prideful in his stance.  
Then Sabertooth realized it. He swerved around to find that a circle was surrounding him. Sabertooth was trapped. The man that he was so close to saving was only a few feet from him. He corrected the man's attitude by knocking him out on a poll. That was the way that man should have been- quiet and dead! Sabertooth grabbed his body of information, and made a dash for it but it was too late. The men were closing in the circle. More men were coming in, readying their hoses. Sabertooth could still see the smoke they had used on his associate. Its stinging smell was only matched by a road kill skunk on a wet, humid summer day.  
He struggled through the gun fire and extremely dense smoke. He chugged through it but didn't get much anywhere. Right then, the hoses let loose their poisonous venom. It wafted through the smoky air in a slow, sleepy mode. Its blue tint was intimidating in itself. The blue color seemed to be a reminder of all the beautiful things that it erased from life. With it, there was no salty, blue ocean to line the shores. There was no cobalt sky to carpet the floors of heaven. It erased everything and imitated them like a certain mutant. 


End file.
